his mom and dad and little brother unpacked the trailer and when i tried to drive past hollister politely shut the car door so i could eke through. and i thought: aw, how nice.
unfortunately, hollister is moving into the demon house across the street. and if i know that address -- which i do because it's the channel i turn to when i need something a little more real than reality tv -- the second i can't see his mom in my rear view mirror he is going to crack about 35 grain belt premiums and decide he hates the face of one of his party guests. that address brings out the crazy. even in the most pedestrian of b-average seeking, jv-varsity football quitting, parents-blaming-the-coach-and-petitioning-for-his-firing, eva-mendez-drooling, country-club-caddying, high-school-junior-girlfriend-having business major with a spanish minor.
the street is going to become engorged in some sort of two-backed beast display of ultimate fighting, the likes of which hasn't been seen since menudo's last slumber party. he's never going to get the stains out of that shirt.
i know these things.